


don't ever come down

by optimusfine



Category: Foo Fighters
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 10:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4957396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/optimusfine/pseuds/optimusfine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taylor feels his knuckles split as his fist hits the punching bag, blood beginning to smear on the dark fabric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't ever come down

**Author's Note:**

> in which rock husbands become hockey husbands, mostly bc of [this](https://twitter.com/spoopyixing/status/651850046879608832)

Taylor feels his knuckles split as his fist hits the punching bag, blood beginning to smear on the dark fabric. His hands are aching, his head swimming as sweat drips down his face and into his eyes, blurring his vision, and he can feel his thighs trembling. 

"Taylor." 

He knows Dave is there well before he speaks, and Taylor ignores him, slams his fist harder into leather. He feels Dave's eyes on his back, slicing through him, and his shoulders tighten with anxiety and anger. The blood is pumping through his veins, making him feel dizzy as it rushes to his brain. 

" _Taylor_." 

Dave's voice again, cutting through the fog in his head, and Taylor can see Dave step fully into the room, staying well outside of Taylor's range but purposefully putting himself where Taylor can see him. 

Still, Taylor ignores him, focusing harder on the image forming in his mind. 

_The ice is stretching before him, dirty and cracked and spotted with blood. The buzzer is counting down, red numbers flipping faster and faster as Taylor skates, turns one way to avoid a defender and expertly flips the puck over his stick. There's nothing but him and the empty goal in front of him, and it's so easy to flick his wrist, sending the puck flying._

_Too easy._

_The buzzer blares behind him as the puck ricochets off the red posts, clattering harmlessly to the side of the goal, and the crowd screams._

"Taylor!" 

Taylor barely feels himself collapse, knees hitting the mat beneath him, and there's warmth at his back as dark hair falls into his line of sight. 

His entire body is aching, heart pounding in his chest, his hands going numb as he lets his fingers slip open, staring at them with blank eyes. 

"I fucked up," he whispers, hardly loud enough for himself to hear, but the warmth around his shoulders tightens in response. 

"You didn't," Dave rasps from somewhere above him, fingers splayed on the curve where Taylor's neck meets his shoulders, and Taylor realizes that he's shaking. 

"I did." 

"T..." 

"Don't!" Taylor yells, pushing Dave's hands off of him and curling his arms around himself, as if trying to curl up small enough that he disappears. "Don't give me that sympathy shit, Dave. I fucked up. I tripped at the fucking finish line. We lost. We're out of the playoffs. The end." 

Dave is silent for a moment, and all Taylor can hear is their rapid breathing in the air before Dave lets out a heavy sigh. 

"We all fucked up." 

Taylor doesn't flinch away from Dave's hand on his back, but it's a close thing, and he makes a confused sound in the back of his throat. 

"We shouldn't have let them score those goals. We should have been better on offense. We should have scored on that power play. We shouldn't have put you in that situation at all." 

Taylor knows what Dave is doing, has seen and heard him give this speech a thousand times to inconsolable teammates after hard losses, but his shoulders begin to lose their tension, and he feels Dave shift closer at his back, his fingers sliding up to push through Taylor's hair.

"I still should have-" Taylor starts, throat closing up, and Dave must sense it, because the next second, Taylor finds himself being pulled against Dave's chest, Dave's hand running soothingly up and down Taylor's back. 

"We all should have," Dave mutters into Taylor's hair, and Taylor takes a shuddering breath, breathing in the scent of Dave all around him. 

He doesn't cry, but he fists his hands in the fabric of Dave's shirt and just breathes, feels the anxiety begin to ebb and the tight knot in his gut begin to loosen, leaving him feeling exhausted and empty. 

"Sorry," he mumbles after who knows how long, and Dave snorts. 

"Damn right you are. I was fucking worried, asshole." 

Dave gives a cry of indignation and lurches backwards when Taylor jabs his bony elbow into his ribs, and he sends Taylor a look of hurt, brown eyes bright above his frown. 

Taylor grins slightly, and Dave's entire look softens, fingers curling around Taylor's wrist to pull him forward with a soft, "C'mere." 

It's easy for Taylor to shift forward, to let himself be pulled back against Dave, and easier still for him to push up slightly on his knees, despite his shakiness, and catch Dave's mouth in a kiss. Dave's beard is scratchy against his cheeks and Taylor makes a face, bringing a hand up to run his fingers through the hair as Dave laughs into his mouth. 

"I feel like I'm making out with a fuckin' lumberjack," Taylor says, and Dave laughs again. 

"You're not much better," he points out, fingers tracing the line of Taylor's jaw, which is also covered in a rather impressive beard, and Taylor shrugs. 

"Good point." 

The mention of his beard makes Taylor deflate, slightly, as he thinks about the fact that he'll have to shave it off, that their time in the playoffs is over, and Dave frowns at him. 

"Hey," he says, catching Taylor's attention by nudging his chin up, and Dave kisses him again, hand curling in Taylor's blonde hair. Taylor lets his mouth fall open when Dave nips lightly at his bottom lip and Dave makes a sound in his chest that Taylor feels more than hears. His fingers dig into Dave's shoulders, but it's Taylor that winces. 

"Shit," as he curls and uncurls his fingers into fists. They ache, sore from all of the abuse they took earlier, and Dave sighs. 

"Dumbass," he mumbles, worry and exasperation and affection all in his tone, and he stands, tugging Taylor up with him. Taylor nearly falls over when he finally gets to his feet, and Dave, without saying anything, ducks under Taylor's arm and throws it over his shoulder. Gratefully, Taylor leans on him, buries his face in the side of Dave's neck, and mutters, "Thanks." 

"Anytime, T."


End file.
